


Shadows and Reflections

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Tili Tili Bom, based on lullaby, young!Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: They are taught to be fearless, but each night they lie as still as they can, breaths shuddering in terror at each pass of heavy boots against concrete floor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven’t heard the truly terrifying lullaby that is “Tili Tili Bom”, then you have an experience ahead of you. The melody is creepy and the lyrics enough to give me pause. That being said, it makes for great fanfic material, as was pointed out by my good friend Kati (SithHappens)
> 
> A bit of creative licence was taken with the depiction of the Red Room, but it’s essentially a mash-up of what was seen on Agent Carter and in Natasha’s hallucination in Age of Ultron.

> _Тили-тили-бом…Закрой глаза скорее,_   
>  _Кто-то ходит за окном, и стучится в двери…_   
>  _Тили-тили-бом. Кричит ночная птица._   
>  _Он уже пробрался в дом. К тем, кому не спится_

The cuffs on her right arm chafes horribly against her wrist, but she has learned to endure it, no longer whimpering as the cold metal bites into her sensitive skin. Others have not been as quick studies. She can hear them trying to stifle their sobs, a dissonant symphony of chains clinking against metal bed frames as they are strapped in for the night.

The sterile lights in the ceiling flicker, her heartbeat flickering right in time with them. Can’t they just shut up? Their caretakers give the room one last sweep, nodding contentedly before filing out of the room. There is a collective gasp when the lights flicker one last time and the room falls into darkness. The clock is ticking, and even though they all know they should take this brief respite to fall asleep, they can’t resist the temptation of being… girls. They keep their voices as low as they can, watchful eyes glancing ever so often to the opaque window facing the long corridor.

”Где рыжеволосая? Where’s the redhead?”

The girl is a transfer from another facility, loud and brash and in need of more discipline. It’s easier to just fall in line, do the chores, observe. She closes her eyes, trying to drown out the noises; beds creaking, hushed whispers, a clock ticking-

”Natasha…”

Transfer’s got a stupid sing-songy voice, too loud, infuriating.

”Рыжий…”

”Don’t call me that!” she growls, sitting up to glare at the transfer, who’s silhouette she spots in the next row over in the left corner.

Natasha regrets her reaction immediately, diving back down and pulling her covers over herself. Too loud. Too loud, too loud, too loud. All eyes are trained on windows now. All but two.

”You’re all silly.”

Not a breath can be heard as seconds tick by, time slouching forward on the large clock above the door. Just when Natasha’s heart is about to calm down, settle into a normal rhythm, transfer has to go speed it up again. She’s humming The Song, and even though she does it quietly, Natasha has an urge to rip herself free from her confinements and try her newfound skills on the obnoxious girl and whoever was stupid enough to tell her about The Song. She could live with a broken wrist if that was what it took to get out of the cuff…

A door opens somewhere in the ward, and even the transfer has the decency to shut up and scoot down under the thin covers. Natasha groans inwardly. They never learn. They should go straight to sleep. Footsteps, heavy boots by the sound of it, echo through the corridor, and they work like a well-synchronized machine, taking one collective breath and closing their eyes.

 

> _Он идет… Он уже близко…_

Natasha doesn’t think she’s brave, and she’s fairly certain many of her instructors would agree. She’s curious, foolhardy. But it’s neither that causes her to crack open her eyes, opening them a tiny slit. The Red Room has been her home for two years now. Two years since family, since life, since anything. Two years of training, of dancing, of being chained to the bed and kept in line. They are taught to be fearless, but each night they lie as still as they can, breaths shuddering in terror at each pass of heavy boots against concrete floor. It is that fear that now keeps Natasha from squeezing her eyes shut.

 

> _Тили-тили-бом… Все скроет ночь немая._   
>  _За тобой крадется он, и вот-вот поймает._

He’s no more than a shadow, and she never thought she would fear them again until now. He’s the nightwatch, but far from any well-meaning guardian to keep them safe from the boogeyman. Nothing in this place is made to be easy. Not training, not dancing, not sleeping. The nightwatch haunts them, heavy steps that instill fear and have them petrified in their beds as his shadow sweeps by. They have never seen him, only the diffuse shape of him, large and distorted through the windows, but it’s enough. One night, three weeks ago, he stopped halfway past, and Natasha was sure her heart stopped beating for the full minute he stood there, not quite watching because of course he couldn’t seem them either, but the effect was the same as if he had. The girl in the bed next to her, a blonde named Inessa, buried her head in her pillow and bit into it so as not to scream.

Her lungs already burn, and he’s not even made his first pass. If she’s lucky, this will exhaust her enough to force her asleep before he returns, but she will have to make it through first sweep. Around her, there’s the sighing sound of rapid breath, someone who has already cracked under pressure, unable to keep their fear internal. Natasha hopes it’s the transfer, and decided to dare take another breath, calmly and quietly hiding under the rapid breaths of the unfortunate girl.

When he finally approaches, it’s as if a wave of dread precedes him, an honour guard proclaiming the arrival of the king. His shadow seems to stretch on endlessly, the dim light of the corridor pulling his blurred form into view at the edge of the window. The rapid breaths continue, and Natasha wants to turn around and see who it is, but she can’t take her eyes off the moving shadow, won’t risk the rustling of her pillow or accidentally making the bed creak. Not for this.

”Замолчи! Quiet!”

 

> _Он идет… Он уже близко…_

Transfer. Everything stops: the breather, time, _the Shadow_. The room has never been this silent. The peace only lasts a second, and the Shadow moves; agile, yet heavy, and Natasha wishes she had an off-button she could push. Her body wants to revolt, wants to claw its way out of the cuff, scoot away from the bed, to the furthest corner, through the wall, away from the room. She only has seconds, and she forces her body into submission, to be still and quiet despite the electrical-like static running rampant under her skin.

Someone must have turned up the volume on the world, because Natasha is sure the door has never been so loud before. She forces her eyes shut just as the door swings open fully and the Shadow enters. His presence is even more potent in here, enhanced because despite being in the same room, she can’t see him. For a while, he seems to only stand there, surveying the room, until he’s moving again. In her mind, he’s a cloud of smoke, a shadow in the truest sense of the word, a heavy-booted ghost come to claim someone.

Someone a row behind her… and to the left.

The synchronized breathing can’t be fooling him, no group can sleep as synced, not even a group of future assassins. He knows they can hear him, and so he doesn’t take care to be quiet as he uncuffs the transfer girl, lets her whimpers ring through the room. She, who had seemed so tough and cocky, will now serve as an example for all of them.

 

> _Тили-тили-бом… Ты слышишь, кто-то рядом?_   
>  _Притаился за углом, и пронзает взглядом…_

Natasha wonders if the Shadow can hear the heartbeats thundering in the chests of all the girls in the room, if he knows he keeps them up, invades their dreams, an ever-present darkness at the edge of peaceful reveries. Maybe he’s another test. Operatives must function under any condition. Fear is not tolerated. Fatigue is unacceptable. They must be perfect.

That’s it. He is just a test. He is a test, and Natasha wants to ace it. She does her best to turn her head as quietly as she can, again using the ambient noise to hide her own movements, eyes still closed. Footsteps are moving towards the door, one set heavy and determined, almost drowning out the soft patter of bare feet. He’ll be out soon, she will have to do it now.

”один… два… три…” she counts in her head, opening her eyes.

He’s massive to her eyes, so unlike the image she conjured up in her head. He is solid, a veritable wall, dark and menacing as he dragging the transfer out the room by her left arm. She’s quiet now, resigned. Just as they’re about to exit through the door, the Shadow turns around, and his eyes fall right on Natasha. Her heart skips, unable to break the gaze. Even in the dim darkness, she can tell his eyes are blue, a cold and unforgiving shade, like the sky on a clear winter day. He can see her.

It’s like a standoff, neither one moves. Natasha expects him to take her, that she will meet the same fate as the transfer. Thoughts race through her mind. What does death feel like? How long until they fill her bed again? Could she have made it?

Thoughts for another day, it seems. To her surprise, the Shadow stays put, lifting his free arm to hold his index finger to his lips. Natasha’s eyes bulge. The lights shining in the corridor are dim, but they still manage to catch on the Shadow’s arm, sending reflections dancing on the ceiling. With that, he turns around again. The door closes, the dual footsteps fade and darkness once again reigns.

Another collective breath, this time an exhale, followed by shaky inhales. Natasha can usually keep her breathing regulated to steady breaths, but not tonight. She saw the thing that walk the corridors, that guards them, and he took one of their own. As she turns over in her bed, a sobering thought hits her.

She never even knew the transfer’s name.


End file.
